


Nothing Says Romance Like A Quickie In The Stairwell

by startrekkingaroundasgard



Series: Black Widow Bingo 2020 [8]
Category: Black Widow (Movie 2020), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Being Walked In On, Caught, Deaf Clint Barton, Dom Natasha Romanov, Established Relationship, F/M, Fire, Interrupted, Mile High Club, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Quickies, Semi-Public Sex, Stair Sex, Sub Clint Barton, Switch Clint Barton, Undercover Missions, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:54:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28615413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard
Summary: Clint and Natasha are passionate people. Unfortunately, they don’t have much luck when it comes to expressing such desire and more often than not are interrupted before either finishes. These are 3 times when they were interrupted and 1 when they finally get that release.BWB: B2 - Quickies
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Series: Black Widow Bingo 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906966
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

A hand closed around her wrist and yanked Natasha into an otherwise empty briefing room. Ever ready for a fight, she shoved the body against the wall and pinned them down using all of her considerable strength. A moment later, the lights flickered on in the room and she was face to face with none other than Clint.

That momentary burst of adrenaline gave way to something softer and she brushed her lips over his, a gentle kiss as she released her tight grip around his wrists. Years they’d been together now – she could without much thought produce the exact number of months, weeks and days, and could work out the minutes if she really thought about it – but kissing Clint was still as exciting as it had always been.

His fingers trailing random patterns across the small of her back, such strong, talented fingers, Clint’s eyes shone with mischief. There was something more underpinning that and it didn’t take Natasha more than a moment to name it; lust. He grinned, wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously. “Room’s free until eleven. I checked the schedule.”

“And yet you still can’t manage to read the cleaning rota on the fridge.”

“You’re bringing down the mood, Tash.”

“Ah, yes. Because conference room three is so romantic,” she challenged, the familiar teasing only widening his smile. And god, what a handsome smile it was. There weren’t many people in the world that wore their emotions so honestly and openly, especially not around SHIELD, not around her, and it was a gift that she never had to search for more with him, never had to tug at possibilities and see which thread unravelled first.

Clint kissed her again, his fingers slipping beneath her shirt as he pulled her body flush against his. She gave herself to him, released the many thoughts that had been weighing her down this morning. It was so easy to kiss him, to give away a little of her hard earned control, and she knew in her heart that he would never take advantage of that trust.

But other things… Oh, Clint certainly knew how to take advantage of those.

Wasting no time, he backed her onto the desk at the far side of the room. It was a great view out the large windows, a beautiful shot across the city, but every drop of Natasha’s attention was on Clint. He was rough, pushing her against the hard surface of the desk, but his grip was light. There was no need for any more; she’d follow wherever he led, always.

He cupped her breasts through the thin shirt but Natasha had neither the time, nor the self control, to wait today. Already undoing her zip, she said, “Don’t tease. Maria’s waiting. Get on with it.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Clint fell to his knees and pulled her trousers down, then slid her lacy briefs off too. Mouthing kisses along her inner thigh, Clint tugged Natasha into place and got straight to work.

Her eyes flickered shut as his experienced tongue darted through her folds, humming contently at her wetness. Clint knew exactly how to work her, how to bring her straight to the edge. A burst of pleasure lifted her body when he wrapped his lips around her clit, and she moaned softly at the pressure of his fingers easing into her.

The rattling of the door handle cut straight through Natasha’s bliss. Fucking hell. Acting on instinct, she gripped her thighs around Clint’s neck and flung her weight back, flipping them both over the desk. They hit the ground with a thud. Her body tense, and no longer in the fun way, she pulled up her trousers and stood in one fluid (and shamelessly experienced) movement.

Natasha shot a bright smile at the young agent, pulling Clint up onto his feet. “Close quarters combat training,” she said cheerily without missing a single beat. “You wouldn’t believe the number of office fights we get into.”

She glanced down at the agent’s info packet and wished him luck in his presentation as they slipped out of the room, barely holding back their laughter. Out in the corridor, Natasha grabbed Clint’s neck and pulled him in for another quick kiss, tasting her sweetness on his lips. Tugging on the ends of his hair, Natasha murmured, “Did you hit your head hard?”

“Just another bump to add to the collection,” Clint shrugged, a hand coming to rest on the small of her back once again. He pulled her closer, as if they weren’t already sharing every inch of the same space. “Poor kid must have got a right eyeful as you flipped us over. He’ll probably need therapy. It’s like walking in on your parents.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and pushed him away, both to show what she thought of his statement and to stop his hands from slipping any lower and getting them into real trouble. “I’ve got to go see Maria but when I’m done…”

“I’ll be waiting,” Clint promised.


	2. Chapter 2

“Why couldn’t I wear a suit?” Natasha grumbled, rearranging the floating fabric on her skirt for the hundredth time that evening. It wasn’t that dresses didn’t suit her – she knew for a fact they did, and the lustful stares of guests around the party would have convinced her if she hadn’t – it was just that they were so impractical. All that fabric got in the way during a fight and, most annoying, they didn’t have pockets in which to hide weapons. Honestly, what were the designers thinking?

Guiding her away from the ballroom, too many people staring at them already to risk showcasing Clint’s questionable dancing and exposing themselves, he traced his fingertips slowly down her bare arm. It was an easy distraction as he followed the lines of well covered scars, marks he’d carefully mapped out over the years and now knew from memory.

“This is a re-con mission, Romanoff. There’s no need for weapons,” Agent Tanaka said on the comms, his voice prickly and proper. She wondered what he would do if he found out that the ornate pin holding her hair up in place doubled as a poisoned blade. Or how he would react to learning that her bracelets doubled as garrotte. “And you stand out enough as it is.”

She decided to take that as a compliment.

“Well, I think you look gorgeous,” Clint murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“Focus on the mission, delta team.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and the pair continued to drift through the ball, pretending to care about the horrendous art as they sipped on champagne that cost their host far too much. They stopped in front of a particularly unusual sculpture. The artist was, apparently, an up and coming talent but neither Clint nor Natasha could work out how the mess of swirled limbs and paint splatters in any way related to the overconsumption of resources in the natural world, save for being a waste of materials itself.

Across the hall, the husband of their target was watching Natasha intently. She felt his gaze on the back of her neck, watched it drop in the reflection of a shattered mirror. He made no attempt to hide his interest as he came over to chat, a glass in hand. An accent to thick to be genuine, he completely ignored Clint and introduced himself. “Lucas Benard. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure, miss…?”

“Mrs Rushman.” Clint’s hand grew tighter around her waist and a rush of excitement ran through Natasha. It wasn’t often that his dominant and possessive tendencies flared but when they did… Well, she couldn’t help but get a little turned on.

Before the men had a straight up fist fight, Benard’s secretary grabbed his attention and gave them an exit. However, instead of disappearing into the crowd as they probably should have done, Clint grabbed Natasha’s hand and headed up the stairs and to the nearest bathroom.

Having learned from past mistakes, Clint made sure to click the lock before fumbling for his belt. His eyes were dark when he met her gaze, his breathing shallow, hands practically shaking. Leaning back against the door for support he signed speedily, _Comms are still on. Don’t make a sound or you’ll pay for it. Understand?_

Natasha nodded. She draped her arms around his neck and pressed their cheeks together as Clint bunched the airy fabric around her waist and slipped a hand between her legs. His lips twitched in a smile and he drew back to ask, _No panties? Really?_

She shrugged. _Would you believe they ruin the line of the dress?_

_Absolutely not. You were planning for this all along, weren’t you?_

To answer his question, Natasha closed the gap between them once again and pulled his cock from his boxers. He was already a little hard, the thrill of a mission quickie getting him halfway there, and it didn’t take long for her to work him the rest of the way. She wrapped her long fingers around him, the pressure just enough to elicit a deep, desperate gasp in her ear.

In retaliation, Clint lifted a hand and wrapped it around her throat. His rough fingertips brushed against her sensitive skin with just enough force to catch her breath in her throat. Natasha swallowed deeply, a little light headed at the sheer weight of affection in his gaze. “I love you,” he mouthed, and she was quick to return the sentiment as he slid into her with a long, deep thrust.

Natasha locked a leg around his waist, then slowly rolled her hips against his in time to the music blaring outside. She fought to hold back moans as he brushed her g-spot, the angle just right so he caught it practically every time. Clinging to him, Natasha caught his earlobe between her lips and sucked on the soft skin, unable to stop a quiet laugh as his entire posture changed from dominant to submissive in a second.

Their movements grew faster, more desperate, but then just as that heat started to build in her core, as the tight coil of pleasure got ready to release, Tanaska was back in their ears: “Beta team require back-up. Delta team proceed to the west wing to assist.”

“I thought with was meant to be a nice, easy re-con,” Natasha mumbled, pulling off of Clint with a sigh. So close, and yet so far. She grabbed a towel and tossed it to her partner, taking another to clean between her legs too. Even the soft, fluffy fabric was almost too much for her sensitive clit but alas there was work to be done. “We don’t even have weapons.”

“That’s bullshit and we both know it. You never go in unprepared. Get over there and help before it turns into a massacre.”

He was off the comm before either could argue. Natasha straightened her skirts, Clint did up his trousers, and they grumpily left the bathroom unfulfilled. While beating up security would take the edge off, it just wasn’t the same. Oh, it was going to be a long evening.


	3. Chapter 3

When asked to think about romance, Natasha suspected that most people would think of roses and chocolate and cute fluffy teddy bears. They’d picture candle lit dinners and walks along the beach, making gentle love beneath crimson skies and opening their hearts to another person. Or, perhaps, if they were so inclined they might imagine a whirlwind of passion, desperate touches and a burning need to be close to each other. A spark that drove people together, a need right down in their soul to claim and be satisfied.

What they almost certainly wouldn’t think of was pulling down their pants in a cold, empty stairwell for a quickie between meetings. To Natasha, though, it was as romantic as a night in the Ritz because Clint was staring up at her like she was a goddess, his blue eyes wide with wonder that she had chosen him of all people, and his lips crooked in the most wicked of ways.

As he fumbled with his belt, Natasha dropped into his lap and kissed him deeply. His hands fell heavily on her flesh, squeezing with just enough force to sting, his tricky belt all but forgotten. Rolling her hips, Natasha started moving against his thick, thick, thigh. The crisp material of Clint’s jeans rubbed deliciously against her soft skin, the friction exactly what she needed.

Natasha rolled her head to the side, opening up her neck for Clint. He latched onto her delicate skin and sucked as she rode his thigh, sucking a mark which she could – thanks to yesterday’s rough mission – probably pass off as just another combat bruise. But they would know, and Clint would grin every time she brushed her hair aside and showed it to the world. A mark of love among those of hatred, a reminder that she wasn’t alone in the dangerous world in which they lived.

She reached between them and slipped a hand into Clint’s jeans, unavoidably smug that he was practically hard already. A gorgeous moan fell from his lips, a desperate prayer to a forgiving god. He lifted off the concrete step to pull his trousers down to his knees and Natasha pulled his cock free from his boxers.

Their lips met again as he pulled her pants aside and gently filled her. Clint caught her face in his wide hands and held her still, drew out a kiss until Natasha was heady, overcome by the feelings she had for him. There really no words to adequately capture how deeply her love ran. He knew, though. Of course he did. There were times he needed to hear it but today was not one of those days.

Instead, Natasha sunk down onto his cock until he was completely inside her. Clinging to the hand rail, she started to ride him. Each movement was slow and deliberate as she took her pleasure from him – absolutely not a one sided affair – maintaining control. Obscene sounds echoed up and down the stairwell and she smiled against Clint’s lips, silencing his laughter at their utter ridiculousness.

Clint’s watch beeped quietly, marking a meeting to which he was now late, and their eyes met. Neither spoke, it wasn’t necessary. Natasha merely picked up the pace, switching her grip from the handrail to his blond hair. She tugged harder with each thrust, watching intently as Clint’s gaze clouded over and pleasure overtook him.

He gripped her harder, fingertips pressing hard into her hips as she slammed down on him, when suddenly a shrieking alarm cut straight through their bliss like being drenched by a bucket of ice water. Red lights flashed in every corner of the stairwell. Natasha held Clint’s gaze, hoping desperately that it was nothing more than the monthly fire alarm drill. For one blissful second, there was silence but then it continued in earnest and it was clear that this was a real evacuation.

“You must be fucking joking. I am going to murder whoever pulled that alarm.” Clint’s forehead dropped to Natasha’s shoulder, the sweat cool against her scorching skin. It was just there luck. Honestly, for all the good they did, saving the world from alien warlords and sentient viruses, surely they deserved a break? But alas, the universe was not so kind.

She held him for as long a moment as she dared, their chests growing still as the pair caught their breath and that bright flame of desire dwindled away to nothing. Then, not willing to wait any longer, she slipped out of his lap and helped him to his feet. Barely were her jeans back around her hips did the door above swing open and concerned SHIELD agents poured down the stairwell.

Hand in hand, they joined the mass exodus of HQ, grumbling the entire way.


End file.
